A Drug You Don't Want To Give Up
by BirdG
Summary: He didn't dwell on what it could mean but Draco could readily admit to himself that the nights he spent with Asteria were all he had to look forward to during the week.


**Author's Note:** Written as part of the _Court This Disaster_ universe but you don't have to be familiar with that to read this. I spell it Asteria because that's how JKR spells it on the family tree.

* * *

Draco lit his cigarette and leaned back on the bench, stretching his legs out in front of him. Weather-permitting, he spent every break out here and not for the great view, either. Enclosed by a brick wall, the small courtyard behind the Green Dragon had only the bench he was sitting on and an overflowing rubbish bin that Frenzen had pushed out here so it wouldn't stink up his kitchen.

Drawing his wand, he pointed it at the bin and, saying the words, banished the garbage inside. Two rats scurried away, looking for another source of food.

No, it definitely wasn't the ambiance that brought him out here. It was the relative peace and quiet. Here he didn't have Frenzen breathing down his neck, ordering him around like a house-elf. Here he could block out his dreary surroundings, forget that the dishes that still had to be washed, and the men's toilet needed to be cleaned. Here he just had his thoughts.

And his thoughts were on tomorrow.

He didn't dwell on what it could mean but Draco could readily admit to himself that the nights he spent with Asteria were all he had to look forward to during the week. What else did he have? He hated his job, he hated his boss, he hated the customers, he hated the very building itself, and most of all he hated that other people had moved on to bigger and better things and he was doing servant's work at some dingy little tavern. His only small source of comfort was that as it was located in Knockturn Alley, Potter and his pals were unlikely to ever stop by – unless it was raid.

When not at work, he was at home, in a manor that was in need of repairs still and with parents who couldn't stop discussing money and their lack of it. After the war, the Ministry had their accounts frozen. Since the Dark Lord had resided in their home and used their funds, it was believed that the money that was taken from those imprisoned in Azkaban had found its way into the Malfoy vaults - which was true. The long-fingered wretches at Gringotts were now taking their own form of revenge for their treatment during the war by sorting through the matter as slowly as possible. His trust was all the money they had and after the bail bonds and heavy fines levied against them, there wasn't much left in that vault.

Then the Ministry had declared Dobby a hero and, in his honor, decided to lay a twenty-year ban on any member of the Malfoy household owning or employing house-elves. They had taken Nooxy and Aggy away – kicking and screaming in Nooxy's case – and left his family to fend for themselves. Out of sheer restlessness, Draco found himself doing some of the small repairs around the manor as well as other work just to pass the time.

He rarely went out, he didn't like to spend the money and he had no one to see besides. Greg was in Azkaban and wouldn't be eligible for parole again for months. Blaise was busy with his DA flavor of the week and when he wasn't, he spent most of his time at his villa in Tuscany. Pansy was an ocean away, working hard to shed her past. And Vince and Theo were rotting in their graves. That was it, all of his closest friends separated from him in one way or another and he certainly hadn't made any more.

Except, perhaps, for Asteria.

Ashing his cigarette, he watched the orange embers float away.

They hadn't been friends at Hogwarts, they had barely even talked to each other. He hadn't given her much thought; she had faded into the background, Daphne's plainer sister.

Draco remembered being fifteen and noticing how the girls in his year suddenly seemed sophisticated and adult with their robes tailored to show off their curves, their skirts several inches above their knees, and wearing as much perfume and make-up as they could without getting in trouble. Two years younger, Asteria had looked like a child in comparison with her hair in a plait, not a trace of make-up nor perfume, her skirt falling to her knees, and wearing untailored robes that made her look far more _solid_ than she'd been. Even worse, she had always struck him as dull and aloof. While she hadn't given the impression of having had something crawl up her arse and die like Daphne did, she hadn't seemed as fun as Pansy either.

She had been a nonentity.

He wasn't sure when she had changed but he does know when he first noticed. After his year under house arrest, his mother had urged him to get out of the manor and have fun. Having no one to call one and not sure what to do with himself, he eventually found his way back to Hogwarts to watch the Quidditch matches. Asteria had replaced him as Seeker for Slytherin, filling out the uniform well. Despite her never having caught the Snitch, he went to several games, the sight of her flushed and windswept burning itself in his mind.

At the time, he had never imagined there would be anything between them. Draco had been certain that the heated, angry looks she sent his way as he heckled her would be all he had.

For several years, he thought he was right. Then he ran into her at her sister's wedding and they ended up back at her flat. In what was a night of surprises, the biggest of all was that he had stayed. Normally, he would leave right after, not wanting to deal with the awkwardness the morning would bring. But it was different that time, he wanted to have her again and again. Soon even that night together wouldn't prove to be enough.

He couldn't explain it. To call it an infatuation seemed childish and attributing it to something as vague as "chemistry" was frustrating. It was almost addiction, being with her. It was her scent, the taste of her skin, her gasps and whimpers, the weight of her breasts in his hands, and the feel of her legs wrapped around him. It was being lost in something else. When away from her, Draco found himself thinking about the way her mouth curved as she spoke and how her eyes gave away more than her words ever could. It was a respite.

And while memories of her naked and wanting were first in his mind and his thoughts of her were consumed by all the ways he could make her lose control, Draco found that he liked being with her while dressed.

He certainly hadn't expected that.

Admittedly, she had a worrying fondness for Muggle knick-knacks, some truly mad ideas about Quidditch, and a tendency to be far too uptight. Still, it was nice spending time with her. She could be witty and fun, especially when she'd had a few. She had a genuine passion and appreciation for Quidditch and could talk about sport for hours. She was intelligent, well-read, and cultured. She had ambition, something not enough people valued; she had an idea where she wanted to be five years from now and even twenty years from now. Most of all, she didn't treat him with pity or scorn. She honestly seemed to enjoy his company as well.

She _was_ a friend.

He took one last drag of his cigarette, enjoying the burn in his throat as he inhaled the smoke. Stamping it out underfoot, Draco headed back inside. The sooner this day was over, the closer he would be to tomorrow.


End file.
